


Patchwork

by rikke_leonhart



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, They're so in love it's disgusting, Victor needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 21:13:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14065695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rikke_leonhart/pseuds/rikke_leonhart
Summary: Taking a relationship for granted is a pitfall Victor will perform acrobatics to avoid. Or worse: attempt cooking.Or: Attempted cooking, conversations and lots of cuddling.





	Patchwork

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jade_lil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jade_lil/gifts).



> I love these ahahahahaaaangels so much T___T So much fluff. Oh god.

One day, Victor comes home from the rink to an empty apartment and realizes with a start, that he’s not actually sure where Yuuri is.

 

This morning he’d gotten up before Yuuri and made sure the coffee would be ready for him when he got up, too, but he’d left before then and he’d only seen Yuuri very briefly at the rink, and admittedly, he’d been caught up in the choreography he’d promised one of Yakov’s younger skaters.

 

He wonders where Yuuri is.

 

Who he’s with.

 

If he’s happy.

 

… _is_ he happy?

 

He pulls up his phone and – pauses.

 

The gold on his finger, lovingly put there with trembling fingers and a shaky, earnest smile, still glinting and looking like it couldn’t belong anywhere else, and Victor feels something clench in his stomach. They didn’t really talk to each other for all of yesterday outside of training (and honestly, it hadn’t been a fantastic session on its own, Yuuri had been skating like he feared the next fall and Victor, tired after a long day, hadn’t been his best either), and today there hasn’t been a single text. He knows that if he scrolls back, a long way up if he’s being honest, that they used to be unable to go for hours without talking.

 

He shoots off a text. _Hey, will you be home for dinner?_

 

He waits.

 

When he opens the fridge, there are leftovers from dinner yesterday, lovingly cooked by Yuuri, marked properly for Victor to bring to the rink or heat up for dinner. Victor can’t remember the last time he cooked or even just attempted to, being a disaster and not caring because it didn’t matter, because Yuuri would be laughing.

 

When…? When was the last time he told Yuuri he loved him and it wasn’t on reflex?

 

His phone buzzes. _I might be a bit late, I’m still at the phys_

 

Victor frowns. He didn’t know Yuuri was with their physical therapist, but Yuuri had texted it like Victor _should_ know. Perhaps he should. After all, when Yuuri had uprooted his existence and moved to Russia to follow Victor, to allow Victor his turf, his coach, his home rink and his rink mates, to make all the concessions for Victor’s career, Victor had made him promise that they’d talk about things.

 

Yuuri, flushed and pleased and partly uncomfortable, had promised he’d do his best.

 

Victor has a nagging feeling that he hasn’t been upholding _his_ part of the deal.

 

But Yuuri, Victor thinks, you’ve been strange for a while, too.

 

_I’ll wait for you._

 

*

 

The door opens, and Victor hears the sound of hushed voices before the door closes again, the sound muted as if Yuuri is taking care not to make too much noise. A thump from the bedroom, and Makkachin gently pads out to the door.

 

“Hello,” he hears Yuuri say, then the gentle clinking of Makkachin’s collar while Yuuri is gently scratching her neck. Victor doesn’t need to see him fawn over Makkachin to know he’s doing it. Victor can’t hear what he’s saying, but it sounds deeper, like his voice goes when he’s speaking in Japanese, and there’s a pang of homesickness that Victor doesn’t understand that hits him right behind his ribcage.

 

Yuuri shuffles into the kitchen, tired and eyes down, then up, and he blinks.

 

“…hi,” he says, still blinking. “Did I miss something? What’s the occasion?”

 

The occasion, meaning Victor has set up the table all proper, lit a candle and actually cooked (he tasted it, it’s edible; Victor is fairly certain he won’t poison Yuuri tonight), and Victor doesn’t even know how to explain it. “I felt like it,” he settles on, which is probably the most precise explanation he can offer at the moment.

 

Yuuri looks a little bit uncertain. “Should I go change…?”

 

“You should sit down,” Victor says, pulling out his chair and gesturing to it with a flourish. Honestly, Yuuri is still in his usual after training garb; a sweatshirt and loose pants, but he could be wearing a trash bag and he’d still be welcome at any table of Victor’s. Still slow, still a little uncertain, Yuuri sits down and offers a semblance of a smile when Victor pushes his chair in.

 

Victor is not a terrific cook, but he’s survived on his own for years before Yuuri came into his life. It’s eatable, Yuuri is hungry and not a picky eater, so that works out.

 

He does his best to catch Yuuri’s eye while they eat; he ducks his head, follows Yuuri’s gaze until Yuuri looks back and grins a little, like the smile tugs on his lips as if he can’t help it, and he asks, “What?”

 

“You’re beautiful,” he says, helpless. He doesn’t even know when he started taking Yuuri and their life together for granted, but he feels so lucky that he actually realized this and has the chance to do something about it. “Who was at the door with you?”

 

Yuuri’s smile is fond and wry. “Yura,” he says. “He doesn’t trust me to get home on my own. He says I have a worse internal GPS than Georgi, as if that’s supposed to mean something.”

 

Victor winces. “He can get lost in a phone booth,” he agrees. He can’t look away from Yuuri.

 

Yuuri’s face is a study in confusion, a little bit of uncertainty, too. “Are you sure nothing’s wrong? You’re being…. A little bit weird.”

 

Victor is very alright with being a little bit weird if it keeps Yuuri looking at him like he’s a puzzle meant to be figured out. “I just like looking at you,” he says, and it’s true. Every blink of his eyes brings something new; maybe Victor misses something every time he blinks? The slope of Yuuri’s nose, a faint, almost invisible scar on his cheek bone, his long eye lashes and perfect jawline.

 

It happened very often when he’d just met Yuuri, but the endearing flush that stains the bridge of Yuuri’s nose and high on his cheeks isn’t all that common anymore, but the dearer for it when it shows, and it does now, accompanying Yuuri’s pleased, bashful smile.

 

After dinner (Victor promises he’ll do the dishes) he sends Yuuri off to shower, but just before he goes, he catches Yuuri’s hand and reels him in.

 

Yuuri looks up at him and he makes a low, pleased noise when Victor kisses him.

 

Victor wants to remember everything; how his hands follow the tender skin of Yuuri’s wrists, up to his elbows and further up until he can cup Yuuri’s face, splay his thumbs around his ears; Yuuri’s hands on his hips, gripping securely like an anchor, his sighs into Victor’s mouth, his lips soft and pliant.

 

Sometimes, more than others, he feels these stabs of tenderness towards Yuuri. He _loves_ him, so much, all the time, but these rushes of feeling still takes him by surprise. Right now, it feels as if he’s _made_ of tenderness towards Yuuri, of feeling protective and soft and aching with want for him, for his trust and his time and his thoughts and touches.

 

He cants his head, fits their faces a little bit better and doesn’t turn the kiss filthier, just warmer, more affectionate, like they have all the time in the world inside their bubble, here in their messy kitchen after Victor’s altogether not terrible dinner. Yuuri is breathless and slightly pink-cheeked when they part for air; for a little bit they just breathe together and their mouths bump, then Victor kisses his nose and Yuuri blurts a laugh.

 

Yuuri tugs gently at a strand of Victor’s hair, his eyes crinkled and the corners of his lips tugged upwards. “You’re silly,” he says fondly and presses another kiss to Victor’s mouth, up on his tiptoes and Victor wants to sweep him up and hold him close forever.

 

With one more smile, Yuuri turns and goes to shower, while Victor can do nothing but stare after him, the lovely, lean lines of him, his gorgeous silhouette.

 

He looks at the dishes waiting for him, and he sighs.

 

Dishes done; the shower is switched off when Victor gets to their bedroom, and he sits down and just waits for Yuuri to come out. Forget undressing, he thinks, when Yuuri walks out with just a towel wrapped around his hips. There’s something much more intimate about picking out which t-shirt Yuuri gets to sleep in and picking out his underwear, and Yuuri, still somewhat bemused but apparently rolling with Victor’s mood, lets him. It’s not that he doesn’t want to have sex with Yuuri, _god_ , his mouth _waters_ at the thought, but… this feels so much bigger, so much more important.

 

This closeness when he gently tugs Yuuri’s arms through the t-shirt, much slower and much more difficult than if Yuuri had just done it himself, the intimacy of Yuuri’s breath so close to his jaw when he tucks the shirt over his belly, and he finds he doesn’t want to give up any part of Yuuri’s skin just now, so he latches on to him.

 

“Vitya,” Yuuri laughs when Victor has properly enveloped him, stopping short of wrapping both legs around him, too, even though Yuuri can carry his weight just fine. “What are you doing?”

 

“I love you,” he promises, “And I miss you.”

 

Yuuri’s arms fight to get out of Victor’s hold, but only to fold around Victor’s waist instead. “I’m right here,” he breathes. And then he digs his fingers in.

 

Victor can’t stop laughing, not even when he tilts backwards and hits the bed, Yuuri falling with him like wobbly dominoes, and he’s pretty sure there’s not enough air to sustain his lungs for how mercilessly Yuuri is tickling him.

 

“ _Stop_ , oh my god, I can’t _breathe_ ,” he begs and Yuuri, still grinning, does but keeps his fingers where they are, under Victor’s shirt, right on his ribs, because clearly, he knows as well as Victor does that turnabout is fair play.

 

Cheeks flushed and lips curved in a small, private smile, he doesn’t protest when Victor leans in to kiss him. Already it feels like he’s kissed Yuuri more tonight than he has in the entire last two weeks combined, and Yuuri looks so sweet and so pleased when Victor leans back again.

 

He leans into Victor’s hand when he cups his cheek.

 

“My love,” he murmurs and Yuuri’s lips twitch.

 

“Silly,” Yuuri says again, and he casts his eyes down, long lashes fanned out. He looks embarrassed under Victor’s intense scrutiny, but not objecting. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

Victor _loves_ him. “Like what?”

 

“Like, I don’t know, like you haven’t seen me in _months_.”

 

He hums. “Maybe it feels that way,” he concedes, marveling at how perfectly Yuuri’s cheek fits into the palm of his hand. How on earth did he ever forget that? Or just stopped paying attention to it…? It’s been a while since he’s been this honestly close to him, one hand on the curve of Yuuri’s back, and he scoots even closer, even when Yuuri grins and allows it.

 

This close, Yuuri’s eyes are so large and so dark, the skin beneath a little bruised. “Are you tired, my darling?”

 

Yuuri shrugs. “It’s been a week,” he admits. “Isn’t it always a week?”

 

Victor likes to be of service; he likes to please people, to be helpful, to take care of people, but he’s never quite understood the urge completely until he met Yuuri. He’s never been particularly good at it, either, but he’s been allowed to learn with Yuuri, too, and he wants for Yuuri to relax, to rest his body and sleep in Victor’s arms, and tell Victor why he appears so exhausted.

 

“Why were you at the phys?”

 

When Yuuri moves his legs, he tangles them with Victor’s. “It’s just a precaution, and I’m probably just paranoid,” he says and instantly, Victor feels a little bit further from their warm bubble. “I just thought my right knee didn’t feel completely right yesterday, so… I thought I’d better get someone to look at it.”

 

“Was that why Yura was with you?”

 

Yuuri shrugs and lays his head down right next to Victor’s, and it’s difficult to focus when he’s so close. “He said he’d kick my ass if I didn’t let him come with me, and if there was something wrong with my knee he’d kick my ass and then _your_ ass because… I don’t actually know why, but, well, he never really feels the need to justify why he wants to kick your ass. There’s nothing, by the way, I just need to take it easy for a few days. I probably just overdid some of the jumps.”

 

And hadn’t Victor had him doing jumps yesterday when it hadn’t worked out properly? It made sense now that Yuuri had looked like he didn’t want to jump. Victor occasionally is _such_ a shitty coach.

 

“Vitya,” Yuuri says firmly, “I’m fine. If I didn’t want to do jumps, I should’ve said it. You’re many things, but a mind reader is not one of them.”

 

It occurs to Victor that when he met Yuuri, this was not a conversation that would’ve happened. The Yuuri that lies beside him now, calmly telling him about his body and his decisions… this is also an intimacy he‘s not sure he’s appreciated fully before. And if Yuuri can offer him this, then the least Victor can do is be honest.

 

“I should’ve noticed,” he says and is so, so grateful when Yuuri scoots as close as he can be and tucks his head under Victor’s chin. “I’m sorry. I promised I’d keep my eyes on you.”

 

“Not your fault,” Yuuri murmurs into his throat. “Haven’t you been looking at me all night?”

 

Yes, he has, and he won’t look away again. He clutches Yuuri tighter and Yuuri squeaks a little but doesn’t move to break free, so Victor keeps his hold and presses his mouth to the top of Yuuri’s head. It’s strange to think he hasn’t broken yet, burst right open with the sheer amount of feelings he has for Yuuri and their shared life, but he’s grateful for it.

 

Yuuri’s voice when it comes is small but true when he says, “I miss you, too.”

 

It stings a little bit, it does, but in a good way, too. It’s a little bittersweet, but they’re still here, and that’s what counts.

 

“And I love you, too,” Yuuri then says, then presses his fingers to Victor’s ribs again as if he wants to tickle him again, but his strokes are soothing when he says, “even when you’re being really strange.”

 

Victor hums; it’s not like he has much defense against that, because he supposes his behavior tonight has been a little weird, but it all worked out, didn’t it? “We’re spending tomorrow at home. That’s an order from your coach and a request from your fiancé.”

 

Yuuri makes a noise of protest, but Victor hugs him closer.

 

“We’re going to be aggressively cuddling all day, snuggling with Makkachin and cheating a little bit on our diets.”

 

Against his throat, he can feel Yuuri grinning. “Does that mean I’m cooking tomorrow?”

 

“I didn’t say that,” Victor feels like pointing out, “but I never object to your cooking.”

 

When Yuuri pulls back from his hiding spot against Victor’s throat, it’s like Victor forgets how to breathe, just for a moment as his heart skips. Yuuri’s touch is so careful when the tips of his fingers press to the tender skin beside Victor’s eyes, and he looks like – like he can’t believe it.

 

“I’m so lucky,” Yuuri murmurs and kisses him.

 

Victor wants to object, to protest and say that _he_ is the lucky one – but aren’t they both? They both feel like the luckiest people in the world; isn’t that something?

 

“ _We’re_ lucky,” he corrects gently, lips moving against Yuuri’s.

 

When Yuuri’s fingers dig into his ribs in a vicious tickle attack, Victor almost revises that statement.

 

But he doesn’t.

 

*


End file.
